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I had expected snow. But this is already the middle of winter, and I have yet to see any snow, although there had been two brief (and too brief) light snowfalls recently.
Seasoned expatriate colleagues tell me it is unlikely that it will snow in Beijing this winter. Local colleagues say Beijing hasn't seen much snowing in the past several winters.
I have never seen real snow before. Ever.
I come from tropical Singapore, and although I traveled once or twice a year, every year since my late 20s, I had always done so in the summer months. When I visited Sydney and Melbourne on separate occasions, it was during the early part of the year, when it was summer Down Under.
I had been on three two-month long fellowships - to Japan, the United States and Britain - but those were held in the summer breaks too.
The only city I visited during autumn and winter is Xiamen in eastern China's Fujian province, where temperatures generally do not dip below 10 C.
This is the first time I am living through the autumn and summer months in the country's colder north. I must admit this is late for my age - I'm in my mid-60s - still, what can I say? Better late than never. So I am grateful for the opportunity.
There may be no snow, but the cold weather here is of novelty value to me. My first experience of what it felt like to be brrr-cold was when I visited the award-winning architectural project Commune by the Great Wall.
This was during the National Day holidays last year, when the weather was fine in the city and I had not prepared for the chill - 8 C - outside of the city and up in the hills.
The villas, each designed by a top Asian architect, were spread out up the hills. I made it to two of them with my driver before we turned back and retreated into the heated clubhouse.
Autumn arrived and I piled on the clothes. For the first few weeks, a cardigan and a coat that I had bought from H&M were enough for the outside. But since last month, I have had to wear a down jacket.
The central heating in my apartment I found is inadequate. To feel comfortable enough, I have to additionally turn on the heating in the air-conditioners in my two rooms.
My apartment looks out to the field of a school where, in the afternoons, until the end of last year, the students - both boys and girls - ran around and shot hoops in just their thin uniforms. Whenever I felt it was too cold and got fretful, I would look out of my windows at the kids and tell myself that I must learn to adapt to the change.
I remember an account in the memoir, The Drowned and the Saved (translated version published in 1989), of Italian chemist and writer and Auschwitz survivor Primo Levi that illustrates how one can easily perish if one doesn't adapt, no matter how difficult the circumstances.
In the concentration camp in the freezing winter months, the prisoners continued to sleep naked on the floor at night and went out on marches during the day. There was no heating, but there was a small flame (I can't remember if it was indeed a flame) in a corner.
The prisoners knew not to go near the flame for the heat no matter how tempting it was, because when you did, you would not be able to take the cold outside the camp the following morning.
One prisoner, a professor, however, could not bear the cold any longer and one night, he kept inching his way toward the flame. He got near enough to the flame to feel warm and he slept.
But the next morning, on the march, he froze to death.
As I learn to live with the cold, blessed with the luxury of heating, I'm still hopeful that it might snow after all in Beijing.
The author is consulting editor, feature section of China Daily yeow@chinadaily.com.cn
